


Rattenkrieg

by Żeni (JD_Centric)



Series: Hetalia - Historical Notes [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Historical, Character Study, F/M, Historical, Historical Hetalia, Human & Country Names Used (Hetalia), M/M, Propaganda, Secret Intelligence, Smoking, Soviet Union, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:13:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29202642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JD_Centric/pseuds/%C5%BBeni
Summary: "He stormed inside the office and shut the door, letting Gilbert stare at the space he had just occupied in honest spite.Maybe his own grace had just run out as well."//Following the end of the war, Prussia finds himself as trapped as a rat inside the limitless Union. But as his health returns slowly year after year, the same can't be said about his mental stability as he's ignored and treated as well as one would a dead man. That is, until Ivan takes pity on him and as a modern Devil offers Gilbert power.//
Relationships: Belarus/Lithuania (Hetalia), Belarus/Prussia (Hetalia), Hungary/Prussia (Hetalia), Prussia/Russia (Hetalia)
Series: Hetalia - Historical Notes [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079207
Kudos: 9





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, the direct continuation of The Berlin Trial, my more major historical fanfic! I really wanted to have this done a week or two ago but my study session just started and I was incredibly bitter over my Polish exams, I passed those, but one of them was an experience that wounded my ego a bit, so I wasn't really in the mood to write anything. Now that those are done for, I decided to finish this bit and post it, so now we're waiting for a part two, because the idea turned out a bit longer than I thought and actually I just really adore working with these characters in particular, as I've said before. I hope you enjoy this, I hope I've done a good job with the characterization and don't be shy to drop a comment down below with critique and a review c: <33 I have many more historical fics coming up and a lot more AU ones so stay tuned for those!  
> *Rattenkrieg - It refers to the fierce urban fights that were fought by the German and Soviet troops in Stalingrad from September to November 1942. The name was coined by German soldiers who encountered rats in the Stalingrad sewers (where regular fights also took place). The German general Karl Strecker described Rattenkrieg: "The enemy is invisible. Traps from the basement, behind the remnants of walls, from invisible bunkers and from the ruins of factories cause serious losses in our units."

He lost the kitchen in their first battle over it. The living room was never his, to begin with. Thus, Gilbert found himself surrounded by the enemy on all three fronts – the fourth being the wall facing the inner yard of the cooperation.

Mornings followed a certain routine, with all of them running left and right and tending to their own work, avoiding each other with precision they had picked up already over the few years of life under one roof. Said routine was monotonous, rather chaotic and rushed and just as orderly. Gilbert hated it really, that’s why instead of getting up as early as he liked, he hid like a rat in his room until there was nothing left to do but face the enemy head-on.

Romania would greet him in the hall usually, that morning he rushed right past him, wrapping the woolen scarf around his neck while ushering Moldova along – it was time for school and they were, as per usual, running late. The phone – they were one of the few apartments with an actual phone, the Mister had issued it – was ringing since the early hours and Bulgaria was first to pick it up, trying to raise his voice over the commotion, before turning towards the kitchen.

“Estonia!” He called, after sharing a few back and forth lines with the person calling, “Estonski! It’s for you, this time…”

Estonia rushed into the hall in such a hurry that he nearly spilled tea over his shirt. He took the phone handle and began speaking in quick accented Russian and Prussia watched him mutely for a moment before carrying on towards the dreaded kitchen.

The room was small, made even smaller by the furniture and the dining table in the middle where Lithuania sat, reading the newspaper. Meanwhile, Latvia set the table, putting down the plates and cups Ukraine gave him. Poland stood by the window, smoking, his eyes, narrowed with confusion and curiosity, observing a scene rather comical happening in the yard downstairs through the dirty window.

“Is Natalia…alright?” He asked, talking to himself rather than the rest there. “Who is she talking to…?”

And really Belarus was downstairs, waiting by the car Ivan had gifted her for her birthday, for Vladimir and Anton so she could drive them to school on her way to work. She was talking loudly, not really yelling, while she waved her arms around in erratic gestures. That wasn’t really something unnormal, to see Belarus scolding people left and right, but when she was so obviously talking to herself then it became odd.

“I swear,” Feliks shook his head, stubbing out the cigarette in the ceramic ashtray on the wooden frame of the window, “this situation is affecting some of us more than others…”

“The tea is going to go cold,” Ukraine said, sitting down finally with a tired smile. It was obvious that lately she barely slept, something to do with the…situation. “Tolys, should I pour you? I made the pirogi for you, they’re with meat…”

“You eat,” Tolys said, absently, folding his paper in half and setting it down to pour himself tea. “I’m not really hungry, I’ll pick something from the cafeteria at work.”

“I’ll fold you one in paper right now, they’re warm, fresh…”

“It’s alright, it’s alright, I’m not hungry. Here, Raivis can take mine.”

“It’s not like it’ll help him grow taller,” Feliks mentioned, reaching over for a pastry while Latvia frowned, barely biting back a reply.

“You’re an amazing cook, Irinche,” Bulgaria said, polite and honest and overly cheerful for such an early hour, walking back into the kitchen. Catching Prussia standing awkwardly by the sink, minding his own business like an apparition, apparently one that haunted their home since the late forties now, Aleksander waved him over, making him sit down and with excess friendliness that was often mistaken for hypocrisy, poured him tea and filled his plate with boiled eggs and cheese.

“We can’t have you standing around all gloomy!” He clapped his hands, acting as if he wasn’t noticing the sudden awkwardness and tension on the table. “Right? We’re all in such a situation! Why not help each other as much as we can, right, am I right?”

“I’m leaving for work,” Tolys said, finishing his tea in three or four large gulps before walking out of the kitchen.

“Can you drive me?” Estonia, who had just finished his conversation, asked, already grabbing his coat.

“Did I say something…?” Aleksander asked, as if he didn’t know already, “Oh, come on now…”

“Check it,” Poland laughed, changing the subject when he pulled the newspaper towards himself to read. “Pravda, the most honest paper. Let’s see what truths they’ll convince us in this morning.”

“Not on the table,” Aleksander scolded him and at almost the same time, Lithuania yelled from the hall:

“Not in the house, Poland!”

Gilbert disliked mornings the most, he couldn’t only decide just why – maybe for the way he was being treated, as if he didn’t exist and was nothing but a part of the furniture or maybe it was Aleksander’s constant attempts to make him stand out and help him finally become a part of whatever union they were, even when Prussia had never needed anyone’s help to really make himself noticeable.

Another few years there and he would become nothing but a hateful, horrible shell of a being – neither human nor anything that mattered, a big nothing, a mistake history was about ready to get rid of.

Winter depressed him; he couldn’t tell why, maybe seasonal depression hadn’t yet been diagnosed or if it had, Gilbert hadn’t heard of it. But nothing could compare with the feeling the stark white colour of the snow across the gray boulevards and atop the gray facades of the buildings filled him with – dread, loneliness, nostalgia.

The first snow came early that year. It caught them off guard but Russia thought of them as lucky – he had taken them to the dacha for their annual vacation, which served as nothing more but a few days off of their usual chores to go and clean the villa, stop the water and electricity for the winter and eventually prepare it for the holidays. Ivan loved spending his time in the dacha, in their company in particular, which was surprising, considering that Ivan liked to keep his friends close and his enemies closer. Of a few of them he was especially wary – Prussia he gave the cold shoulder, people like Poland he liked to keep as far away as possible.

At the dacha, however, Ivan liked to imagine a family – the cliched theories and pan-Slavic ideologies became his favourite again. That weekend they went to the villa, most of them in high spirits, Gilbert again feeling like he wasn’t really supposed to be there at all. The usual topics concerned subjects he knew nothing about or didn’t especially enjoy. So for the most part he merely walked around and sulked, doing whatever chore they gave him and preferring to stray from any casual conversation.

One of those evenings, before the snow fell, they gathered in the living room and Ivan personally chopped the wood and readied the fireplace before lighting the fire. The lightbulb wasn’t a strong one so the light was much dimmer and that, combined with the smoke the room filled with as soon as some of them allowed each other a cigarette, helped the atmosphere became lethargic, like in a bar, only with a fireplace and a red, Turkish rug covering the wooden floor, so dusty that its bright colours seemed washed out. The smell of stews and meats came from the kitchen, where the girls kept talking and laughing.

After dinner and a toast they all politely took part in for the future of their union, Ukraine offered to take Moldova to bed upstairs, helping Romania with the responsibility of making Anton leave the adults to their own serious business and getting him to sleep after a day of running around the garden. They made Latvia go upstairs soon after that before they moved to the living room where, after another few toasts, Ivan finally left them to go upstairs too – not as though he hadn’t enjoyed their company but Russia did what Russia wanted and if Russia said it was bedtime, what he really meant was that in the next hour all of them ought to be in bed already.

Instead, they continued their game of cards, only now a bit quieter, minding their boss’ sleep. The living room was hot, the fire crackled softly in the fireplace. If Gilbert stood from the couch and walked upstairs at that moment, he was sure nobody would mind or notice. The only problem was that Vladimir put a glass on the table in front of him, meaning that when Aleksander brought out a glass bottle without a label, full of home-brewed golden alcohol, Prussia was meant to drink.

“I’m not drinking that,” Feliks complained when he brought the small crystal glass to his nose.

“Why not?” Aleksander asked, baffled, “What’s wrong with it? It’s perfect, forty degrees, look at that colour!”

“It smells like forty degrees of rubbing alcohol if you ask me…”

“As if you haven’t drunk that too! Look at him, Mr Fancy, you here are above good old Balkan alcohol but you have no problem gulping down rubbing alcohol and water!”

Poland frowned, quietly mimicking Bulgaria’s outrage, “It’s not Russia you’re talking to.”

“Yeah, you’re Poland, that ought to be worse!”

They laughed, on behalf of Feliks’ outrage, though he didn’t outright disagree. Meanwhile, Prussia would do anything for a simple beer. Or, even better, a glass of whiskey. Something deep and with flavour – he had had enough of everything alcoholic that was brought to Ivan’s after every vacation home, from Ukraine, Bulgaria and Poland, from Romania even, who wasn’t even that big of a drinker. Most of all, he’d love to drink in a pleasant company again, not one that drank with the sole purpose of getting as drunk as possible, though considering their situation, Gilbert wouldn’t be surprised if he too picked up the habit.

He made a face when he drank, feeling the smell hit him harder than the taste, and when he saw Romania reaching over to pour him another glass, Gilbert waved away his hand.

“No, thanks,” he said, looking at Aleksander, “it hits you right in the head, this one.”

“I make it myself,” he beamed. “Have another drink. If you like it, I’ll bring you a bottle! Just remind me, because I always say I’ll bring things, but I…”

“No, no,” Gilbert interrupted, as politely as he could, standing up. “It’s really strong that one, I think I’ll just…”

He waved towards the stairs, meaning that he would rather go to bed than stay and listen to their conversation until he got too drunk to head upstairs himself.

“It’s still early,” Vladimir said, almost immediately trying to make him stay. If it weren’t for him and Aleksander, Gilbert wouldn’t really have anyone else to talk to, so, while they thought back to the pleasant moments of their alliance, Prussia would really rather have them around instead of spending his days being ignored. “Stay, drink another one…”

“I’m dealing another set of cards,” Poland declared, quite demonstrative.

“Yeah,” Aleksander agreed, missing the point completely when he turned towards Prussia, “stay for another game, it was just getting fun.”

“Poland meant,” Lithuania said suddenly, eyeing Bulgaria quite meaningfully, “that we’re too many people to play.”

“Exactly,” Prussia agreed, gritting his teeth. “Too many people. Till morning then.”

A lasting cold had gripped him and it had little to do with how cold the house was now that they were about to stop the heating for the winter months. More often than not these days, Gilbert found himself thinking and imagining what it would be if he was in any way related to them, if he acted like them more, tried to adapt to their lifestyle and routines. He wondered if things would be different if he drank more, if he dulled the aches and troubles with alcohol and instead of doing something about it outright made jokes and pretended that it was all alright.

Alas, Gilbert wasn’t like them – he had nothing to do with them. Most of all, he wasn’t the one who had to adapt to them, they were the ones who had to live under one roof with a problem. Like the cowards they were, they did it the only way they knew how – by pretending he wasn’t there. Russia, however, they couldn’t ignore as easily, so instead they allied with him, against Prussia of all people. Not as though Ivan needed convincing, he was well aware of Gilbert’s presence, day and night, all he hadn’t done so far was push his hand down his pants to see what else was in there.

He woke up early the next morning to the sight of snow and a steady curtain of it falling from the grey clouds. Prussia dressed in a hurry, cursing while he did. It couldn’t have been colder and when he pressed his shaking hands against the radiator in the room, it too was barely exuding any warmth.

It was much warmer downstairs, if only because of the working oven and stove in the kitchen and the fireplace, still warm from the evening. Anton was already dressed and having fun in the snow outside, babysat by Latvia while Czech babysat both of them. It seemed sometimes that they were all a bunch of pickles stuffed into a jar when actually a few of them had come to the dacha – some of them had to stay in Moscow to look after the administration and when in need call Ivan.

Most of the time they ignored each other as best as they could, considering the historical turmoil between most of them. It was no wonder to, most of the time, catch Ukraine purposefully avoiding the rooms where Poland was slacking off.

That morning was no different, only this time Russia was actually there to give orders. He too was rather elated to see the snow but the sudden change of weather was no reason for them to put off their chores.

After tea and breakfast, Tolys was ordered to stay in the living room and order the boxes of letters and folders that for some reason had been brought to the villa and see what was important and what not. Meanwhile, Aleksander and Vladimir were marched upstairs to the attic to dust the multitude of old furniture, paintings and memorabilia from the past decades. Prussia, as always, pulled the short straw – Ivan asked him, politely as ever, to go and help Feliks clear the pathways of the snow while Estonia and Latvia were sent out with one of the cars to the nearest village to get groceries and, if possible, some part needed to fix the boiler in the bathroom.

It was bad enough that Gilbert hated the cold already, the Russian cold, in particular, had always struck him to the bone since the first time he was made to experience the brutality of it. Having Feliks stumbling around in his feet and generally being a great nuisance definitely didn’t help things.

If there was one person Gilbert actively tried to ignore, that was Poland. Russia, apparently, knew so too, and it was their grudge that he used to his advantage – if either of them even thought about slacking off, the other would tell him immediately. The difference was perhaps that Ivan liked punishing Gilbert more severely for some reason or other.

The snowfall had stopped around lunchtime, giving them enough time to clean the paths towards the entrance gate. Gilbert, who had always believed in hard work, did his part as dutifully as he was taught to, shoveling away the snow until he broke a sweat under the thick layers of clothes. Poland, meanwhile, was shamelessly watching him, pressed against the wall – after a few minutes of half-hearted work, he had given himself a smoke break.

He watched Gilbert with a lazy look, almost as if he were looking right past him while he exhaled the smoke slowly. If Feliks wasn’t standing beside a shovel himself, it would almost seem as if he were there to supervise Gilbert’s work instead of help with it.

“You missed a spot,” he called out at some point, nodding towards some imagined spot behind Gilbert. “Come on, come one, with this speed, you won’t finish till dinner!”

“Yeah, if I had someone to help,” Gilbert yelled back, straightening his back and hearing the vertebrae crack, “I would’ve been done by now!”

“I guess.”

“You guess…And what are you supposed to be now? The supervisor?”

“I’m the prison guard,” Feliks declared nonchalantly, with the same even tone.

“Very funny…”

He took off the woolen scarf to brush off the sweat off his face and neck for a moment before looking back at Feliks. The Pole was nowhere near done smoking and his lack of hurry was obvious and remarkable. Gilbert knew how attentive and creative Feliks could be, when he wanted to, and right now he was way beyond wanting to even raise a finger and help him.

“You know,” he said, hating the silence more than he really did talking to Poland, “I’m guessing we really can get done quicker if you helped. It’s not snowing right now, at least.”

“It’ll start later today and you’ll have to clean the path again tomorrow,” Feliks replied. “Why bother? You do it, if you want to.”

Gilbert wasn’t sure what else he had been expecting but a dismissal. He rolled his eyes at Feliks’ cocky tone, not bothering to even think of a thing to say until he looked back down at the piles of snow in his feet.

Meaning only to joke around a bit – they really had no positivity there whatsoever and Prussia was the type of person who appreciated it from time to time – Gilbert gathered a handful of snow and formed a ball as best as he could in his gloved hands. He turned around and, with only enough force to reach Poland but not really hurt him, threw at him the lumpy snowball. What Gilbert hadn’t really considered was the strength he actually put behind the throw – what Feliks got was a near mouthful of dirty frozen water when the ball knocked the cigarette out of his hand just as he was raising it to his mouth.

After a moment of startled silence from both sides, Gilbert made the mistake of smiling, making of the situation nothing more than playful banter.

He raised his hand towards Poland and, imitating a gun he then pretended to shoot, said, “You were just shot!”

The tension rose suddenly and before Gilbert could really open his mouth to apologize or even notice the change in Feliks’ demeanor, he was already kneeling down for a handful of snow himself. This time, the snowball was thrown with the spite and strength Prussia hadn’t meant to put into his own throw; the snow, hardened and compressed to a painful small ball, hit him right in the chest.

Gilbert barely had time to prepare himself and recover from the surprise attack when another ball flew his way, hitting his shoulder and making the muscle and skin under the layers of clothes ache. The third one he tried to block with his hand, which wasn’t any less painful, and by the time he managed to straighten up and look at Feliks, he was already preparing a fourth snowball to throw.

“What’s your problem?!” Gilbert yelled, turning his back so it could take the burden of another hit.

“You were just shot,” Feliks nearly screamed, kneeling down for more ammunition, “and shot again! You were just executed!”

Never the type to back down from a clear invitation to fight, Gilbert knelt down and gathered enough ammo for a swift counter-attack. Feliks had already shortened the distance between them but while he had to kneel down every few seconds for more snow to pelt Gilbert’s back with, he had left his front in the open for Prussia to throw at him at least five small snowballs. Meanwhile, Poland quite smartly ran in the direction of what in spring was a row of hedges lining the sides of the path towards the front door and hid easily behind the wall of snow – from there he had a perfect view of Gilbert and his aim was impeccable.

It was impossible to get around Feliks’ cover but it wasn’t as though he was shooting bullets at him, so in the short moment he had to gather more snow, Gilbert knelt low enough so Feliks wouldn’t be able to through the balls at him as severely as before. Meanwhile, he quickly crossed the distance between them. His ambush lacked finesse but it wasn’t though he hadn’t shown Poland how war was lead in the finest details before; style didn’t matter much in a snowball fight.

Feliks obviously wasn’t prepared for the sneaky advance and he squealed when Gilbert managed to hit him with a rapid blow of three how snowballs. His surprise and delayed response gave Prussia a chance to tackled him to the snow-covered ground.

“What’s your problem, huh?” He asked, his tone furious and impatient, while he tried to hold down the struggling Feliks. “It was just a joke, can’t you take a joke!”

Instead of answering, Poland grabbed a while handful of snow and ice and threw it in Gilbert’s face. The sudden smack stunned him and the snow that got in his eyes was more than painful. Before he knew it, Poland was already turning the tables around and startling Prussia, pushing him down with the entirety of his weight, not as if that was a lot.

“What exactly do you call a joke?” Feliks exclaimed, pushing Gilbert’s face into the snow, “Is this a joke to you! Because I’m not laughing!”

He got off Gilbert as they both heard the nearing sounds of a car; Eduard and Raivis were most likely back.

The snow and ice had turned his poor skin red and Gilbert rubbed it, hissing softly at the sting and ache, while he stood up. He watched Feliks walk in the direction of the beige Moskvitch where both Estonia and Latvia were already taking out the bags of groceries. Raivis was already complaining, shaking like a leaf from the cold.

He knelt down and gathered enough snow and ice to make a last snowball before, with all the spite and anger he had mustered already, Gilbert threw it at Feliks. What he hadn’t expected was for Poland to react quickly – the moment he glanced back at Gilbert and heard the swishing of the snow as the ball cut through the air, he hid behind Raivis, at the same pulling him in front of himself.

The snowball caught Latvia straight in the eye and he screamed out, out of pain rather than actual surprise. He dropped the paper bags immediately to bring his shaking, gloved hands to his face while exclamations of ‘Raivis!’ and ‘Latvia!’ followed his pained moaning and crying.

“You did that on purpose!” Feliks yelled, looking up at Gilbert.

“I’m sorry…” Prussia apologized. His face had become as white as the fresh snow. “I didn’t mean to throw it that hard…”

“Yeah, right. You wouldn’t be sorry if it had hit me, would you!”

“Feliks!” They heard Lithuania yell from the direction of the house and when they turned their heads in his direction, they saw him standing at the window of the living room, watching the scene unfold. “What’s going on?!”

He ran out of the house, having barely pulled on his overcoat, before rushing over to Raivis.

“How can you be such a child,” he scolded Poland, looking worriedly at Latvia’s poor eye while he cried and complained.

“I didn’t mean to,” Feliks exclaimed, looking up at Prussia with a glare so furious and flaming that he would’ve set him aflame if it were possible.

“I’m sorry,” Gilbert repeated, “I didn’t mean to, I swear. Are you okay?”

“I really don’t know what has to happen for you to start acting responsible!” Tolys kept lecturing, pulling Latvia along towards the house while Estonia hastily gathered up the bags. He didn’t even acknowledge Gilbert’s presence, neither did Raivis when Prussia apologized. Even Feliks told him nothing; all he did was give him a long and dirty side-glance on their way back to the house. It was almost as if he wasn’t even there.

Poland was the last to walk inside but not before he threw Gilbert a final quick passionate glance. Gilbert though was already walking towards his shovel to go back to work. He only heard when Feliks shut the door with enough force to make the rusty hinges rattle.

Slovakia welcomed them upon their returned some few days after, hugging Czech and kissing both her cheeks when she so thoughtfully offered him the sides of her face, covered in a healthy, deep flush. Behind him, waiting at the door of the block and ready to go and help with the unpacking, stood the only person Gilbert hadn’t expected to see again – Hungary.

He had known for some time now that they were stuck in the same horrible trap; the thought of them meeting again, however, had never graced him. Erzsebet very rarely came to Moscow and whenever she did, she was given a room in Ivan’s own, private apartment, before leaving as soon as the following day. Gilbert knew nothing of those visits, Russia rarely found the need to tell him anything.

His heart stopped and, seeing one of the few people who, in his life, he had called not only ally but friend since he had set foot on European soil, Gilbert’s eyes became glossy with tears. Erzsebet, perhaps, hadn’t expected to see him either, because in just a second her own expression changed and her hand flew to her mouth, as if to stifle the urgent need to scream – as if she had just seen a ghost.

Depending on what Ivan had told her, maybe she didn’t think differently either.

After so many horrible years spent in sickness and loneliness, the joy of seeing a friend who thought of him nothing horrible and looked about ready to cry upon meeting him again, Gilbert left his suitcase in the snow beside the car and walked quickly towards Erzsebet. Her hand tightened around the side of the doorframe but otherwise, she didn’t move, stuck in place. Only when Prussia wrapped his arms around her did Hungary finally found her strength and returned the desperate embrace.

She squeezed him tightly before pushing him back and, without spite or any force really, smacking him across the face, reddened by the violent cold.

“Where were you?” Erzsebet almost screamed, the tears streaming down her face. If he didn’t know better, didn’t know that their kind was untouched by age and time, Gilbert could’ve easily convinced himself that in the past few years, Hungary had actually aged – her face was marred by the ugly marks of worry and misery. “We cried for you, day and night…We didn’t know where you are, after the trial, we…”

The tears and emotions finally began to choke her and instead of forcing herself to continue, Erzsebet again threw herself in his arms and it's where she stayed, for what seemed like hours. Nobody would have let them, if Russia were there…but with him gone, decency was again a virtue.

“He told me, when I was still in Budapest, after the war, that you were horribly sick,” Hungary explained when, that evening, both of them sat in the kitchen. It was late after midnight and they had managed to receive finally a bit of privacy when everyone else finally turned in to rest after the day.

“He lied that,” Erzsebet continued, speaking in a hushed tone, as if the walls were listening to her, “we couldn’t see you because your condition was just that bad. I kept asking about you, every time I came. I wrote letters, Ivan said he’d deliver them to you when you were feeling better, but…”

“He never did,” Gilbert said bitterly, biting his lip. “I never even dared ask about you…I was under surveillance, for a very long time after. Call it political custody.”

“I’m just happy we haven’t lost you,” Erzsebet sighed, heavily, squeezing Gilbert’s cold hand in her own warm palm. “After everything…”

“Forget about it,” he calmed her, “Russia couldn’t keep me locked up in the closet forever, nor will he be able to keep pushing all of his messes under the carpet.”

“Let’s not talk about him now! Tell me, how are you feeling? Have you been to Berlin since the trial? Do you have everything you need here, should I bring you something…”

Prussia smiled; Hungary’s care really was endless and it was just as pure. He had faced her in many battles through their life as neighbours, they had been allies and enemies but no matter on what side, Erzsebet had never been a traitor. She had been Poland’s, Austria’s and she had been a slave to Turkey but there was still no other person Gilbert had ever and would ever respect and trust as much as he did her.

As both a colleague and a woman.

“I have…everything I need,” he reassured her. “You…?”

She smiled, “I’m grateful every day for what I have, I don’t really bother myself thinking what more I can have and what I don’t.”

They drank to that that night and when it was time to sleep, Erzsebet slept by his side, in his bed, her intoxicating scent and warmth lulling Prussia in a dreamless sleep he welcomed and found he deserved.

He woke up the next day when Erzsebet brought them their breakfast in the room. It was already nearing half past nine, so everyone who had paperwork to tend to was already out. Romania had pushed Moldova out for school almost an hour before eight, nearly begging Eduard, who was already falling asleep on the table, to drive them, just so he wouldn’t have to be under the same roof as Hungary; their grudge was still fresh, as were many others in those years.

Even Poland had walked out, grabbing his breakfast to go, despite Hungary being a guest there – they had very little time to catch up, with how Feliks had missed a whole week with her due to their trip to the dacha, but it seemed he was bitter that Erzsebet was choosing Gilbert’s company over his. The last thing he wanted to do was spend any more time with Prussia at the same table while Erzsebet watched over him and cared for him like he was some child.

Everyone was bitter at everyone; the tension in their part of the communal building was thick enough to cut through with a knife as easily as soft butter.

Hungary had to leave that Friday and though Gilbert offered, Tolys was the one who drove her to the train station. The reason wasn’t that Lithuania had decided to stubbornly ignore him, no, it happened so that Ivan called them the morning before it was time for Erzsebet to leave and asked that Prussia came to see him as soon as he could get to his office.

Russia, following his drastic change of attitude, adopted a philosophy based on the well-known cliché, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. He had modified it a bit, however, if only because Ivan was merely one big child who had to be forced first before standing up to his problems. Thus, he kept close the people who feared him too much to dare and contradict him, people like Estonia, like Latvia. They were the ones that most often followed him around and worked with him in his office. Lithuania meanwhile fell somewhere in the middle, Ivan still kept an eye on him at all times, knowing what he was capable of, especially with Poland there to fill his head with nonsense.

Poland and, most of all, Prussia, Ivan kept as far away from himself as possible. They weren’t allowed to set foot in his office, weren’t even allowed to walk around the centre to sightsee, dared they get themselves in deserved trouble. Gilbert believed they were of the few people Ivan not only disliked with a passion but was afraid of. They and the rest of them were better kept away from the paperwork and made to do what they were most useful doing – cleaning, doing the laundry and picking potatoes or cabbages.

With that in mind, one could only try and guess what Gilbert had messed up badly enough to be called to Ivan’s office. Tolys told him that morning after a short phone call and after saying his goodbyes with Erzsebet, both of them promising each other to write letters and definitely stay in touch from now on, Gilbert took a quick shower, fixed his hair and got dressed.

He took the bus and hid behind a newspaper the whole way to his stop; it wasn’t often that Gilbert went on walks and whenever he did, he always felt ashamed and worried looking at the people around him running their errands. It was snowing by the time Gilbert got off on his stop and began walking towards the administrative building where Ivan worked daily, walked up the wide set of stairs at the entrance and nearly bowed his head when he walked under the flag flowing in the biting wind.

Gilbert stomped his feet a few times in front of the door and took off his hat before dusting the snow off his second-hand coat. He walked in rather carefully in comparison to the people walking in and out through the front door in a hurry. Their conversations, some loud and passionate and others casual, bounced off the marble walls and created an unpleasant echo. Gilbert was most fearful of the men stomping around with frowns on their faces under their thick mustaches and in wooled uniforms, their medals nearly enough to make a whole armor.

Ivan worked on the third floor and Gilbert didn’t bother knocking before walking in. Thankfully, he wasn’t in a meeting, not as though he cared, but he wasn’t alone either – after driving Erzsebet to the station, Tolys had gone straight to the office and sat now on his own separate desk opposite of Ivan’s. The two had just been discussing something before Gilbert walked in but the conversation ended quickly after.

“Ah,” Ivan smiled, faking surprise, “you’re here! Great. Well, sit, sit. Tolys-“

“I’ll go get lunch from the cafeteria,” Lithuania said, without needing to be prompted. He sat up and walked around the desk and towards the door where Gilbert still stood, despite Ivan’s urging to go and have a seat.

“Do you know what you want for lunch today?”

“Maybe soup, whatever they have today,” Ivan said, then after a moment of consideration looked at Lithuania again, “and can you please get me dessert? They had this really nice cream last week, in those pudding cups…It was amazing, can you…?”

“I’ll ask what’s for dessert, absolutely.”

“And you can skip in line, just say who sends you, yes…”

“Of course,” Tolys smiled, nodded and walked past Gilbert. Prussia caught a glimpse of his expression when he did and it was anything but bright and cheerful, unlike the impression he tried to give Russia.

“What did I do now?” Gilbert asked, walking across the office and sitting down in front of Ivan. “You never call me here.”

“Well,” Ivan said, not looking up from his paperwork, “there’s a first time for everything. How are you, Mr Beilschmidt? I know I rarely make it to the apartment or call home, but I still care for all of you. Are you in good health?”

“Alright, let’s cut to the chase, I know you don’t care about my health.”

“Oh, I do. Not as much as you think but your health, at the moment, is my responsibility. So?”

“I feel horrible,” Prussia spat, after a moment of silence. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, “I still feel like a prisoner and as far as I know, I’m not in legal custody anymore. I can’t go out of my room, every time I go have breakfast or lunch, they all stare at me like I’m a ghost! Your dog Lithuania makes it even worse, if looks could kill, you’d be planning a funeral, not asking about my health!”

“I didn’t ask you to complain…” Ivan reminded gently; Gilbert’s sudden outburst had made him a bit uncomfortable.

“Why did you ask then?”

“I ask because Eliza came to me, yesterday with a complaint of her own. I…wouldn’t have let her stay in the apartment, had I the chance, but my own was occupied – one of our general staff members had a birthday, then we had another celebration and I didn’t want to make the wrong impression. But…If I knew that she would be so distraught, I would never have let her stay with you.”

Gilbert frowned, “What did Eliza do?”

“She called,” Russia explained, dully, “to tell me how enraged she was that I had…hidden you from her, obviously, I never did that, but…You go and explain such a delicate situation to such a woman. Never mind. Well, yes, she was incredibly bitter and made me almost promise her that from now on, I’d offer you much better conditions. I was only shocked that she would think you were being mistreated, that’s why I asked you to come, so we could clarify the situation. So, Mr Beilschmidt, what is it that makes you so…miserable?”

“I never told Eliza anything like that…”

“Oh, I don’t care what you told her and what she thinks. Neither you nor she can tell anything that matters to anyone that matters. But she did make me think that it’s about time you really did start contributing, hard work always makes people feel better, am I right? In fact, I think it’s something you actually said.”

“Listen, Ivan-“

“Don’t interrupt me,” Russia said, looking up at Prussia with a look so harsh, it shut him up immediately. “I think…you have too much free time on your hands. Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on between you and the others. I even saw it myself, when we were at the dacha. I really don’t like and approve of the pressure between you all. Frankly, I can not and wouldn’t really want to give each of you a separate apartment. So, while you’re here, you will all learn to live by the same rules and work with each other.”

“I _try_.”

“Apparently, not hard enough. That’s why…I would really like you to be more engaged. But not in the traditional way.”

Gilbert raised a brow; he had become incredibly tense in the last few minutes and the longer he listened to Ivan, the more he felt on edge and cautious.

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t think that I'm deaf and blind to your troubles,” Ivan told him, evenly. “I know we live separately and I have little time to pay each of you attention, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t know everything. I see the tension between you and everyone else. And, please, don’t tell me you don’t deserve the harsh treatment. But I also see how certain people act, hear how certain people speak…You’re hardly the only problem. That’s why, I would love it if you helped me, Mr Beilschmidt, keep an eye out for any misbehaviour.”

“Does the dog know about this conversation?”

“No, Tolys doesn’t know. In fact, he thinks I’m currently scolding you about that disastrous fight you got in with Feliks during our stay at the dacha. You know, when you nearly poked poor Raivis’ eye out with a ball of ice.”

Gilbert rolled his eyes childishly. He didn’t care enough to start explaining now who exactly had started that fight and judging by what he had just heard, Ivan maybe knew better than even him.

“I really don’t know what you’re offering me, but…”

“You know exactly what I’m saying.”

“Why me?” Gilbert paraphrased. “You don’t trust me enough.”

“I don’t,” Ivan agreed. “But I also know you have no other choice. You don’t want to be here and you don’t like the people here either. Nobody likes you too, you have no privileges, you can’t even go out on a walk unless I allow you to. I can give you though the chance to be somebody – I can give you the chance to work, have your own desk, meet people. I can let you be an actual person again, instead of a prisoner who has nothing better to do than think and talk to himself. You can make the right choice or hit your head against the wall and go crazy, Radion Roskolnikov.”

“Well, I know a different story, one in which Faust also listened to the Devil and we both know how that one went…”

Ivan pouted, “We have no devils here, that’s for sure. And also, I might have read Goette a very long time ago, but Mephistopheles had to trick him into a deal, am I right? I’m not offering you anything, Gilbert, I’m giving you no choice but to agree. Because I know a man like you needs power, the more you have, the better you will feel. And before you know it, Eliza will again be able to recognize the old Gilbert and will forget all about you being unhealthy and miserable.”

Gilbert opened his mouth to agree or disagree but no sound came out. The last thing he wanted was to be a dog to Russia like the rest of them, his resilience and rebelliousness had hardly left him despite his situation. But what Ivan was offering him was different – what he offered Gilbert was a stable position, one that gave Gilbert power and marginal independence and Ivan a spy and an even tighter grip on his satellites. They could both benefit from such a partnership and maybe one day, if Gilbert did his part of the deal, the leash around his own neck would become loose enough to…

“I need time to consider,” he said.

“You don’t have a lot,” Ivan warned. “There’s also nothing to consider. I said already, you have no choice.”

Lithuania was already walking down the hall towards the office when Prussia walked out. He slowed down for a moment when he saw Gilbert walking towards him and he eyed him rudely before Gilbert stopped and grabbed his arm.

“You must be really happy,” Prussia hissed through his teeth, his eyes ablaze with hatred. “You knew, didn’t you. That Hun-…Eliza called him yesterday?”

“I don’t care a bit what you talk about with him,” Tolys bit back, pulling away from Gilbert and nearly spilling the bowl of soup he carried on the plastic tray in his hands. “That’s none of my business.”

“Yeah, right. I’ve got to be stupid not to think you’re not telling him everything. What more is there to expect from a dog-“

“I don’t _care_ ,” Lithuania emphasized, “what you’re talking about with Ivan and what you do and don’t do. You’re not my problem or concern. As long as you don’t insult anyone I care about, you can go to hell for all I care. I’m done talking.”

“Then why did you warn me about him then?” Gilbert asked, watching Tolys walk towards the door and stop right in front of it. “When I first came to live with you, you warned me about Ivan. Why, if you don’t care?”

“Because I’m more of a human being than you’ll ever be,” Lithuania replied evenly. “But my grace isn’t limitless. Concerning you, it ran out after that one warning.”

He stormed inside the office and shut the door, letting Gilbert stare at the space he had just occupied in honest spite.

Maybe his own grace had just run out as well.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, here it is, part two, so...I was late with this because, really, my exams are taking a horrible toll on me. After being told I obviously don't know a word of Polish or good grammar by my native-speaker Warsaw cow, I was also told that I obviously hadn't even touched a single one of the books we had to read for my Slavic literature course during my exam this Monday, even after being of the five people to attend the lectures and discussions after. So, yeah, all of that really made me feel horribly down and the last thing on my mind was writing. So I'm posting this after a four to five hour writing sprint, I haven't actually proof-read it, I hope there aren't too many stupid mistakes or missing words and dumb, raw sentences. I had a really nice idea for this, I wanted to give it time, write with love, now it just turned out another drabble that I don't even know if it's okay or not. But, all in all, I'm alright with it, I added all the scenes I wanted, all the interactions, I hope it shows a bit of complexity despite the short length. I have a lot of other cool one-shots to show you guys, I have a bunch of other ideas as well that I feel like you'll enjoy so if you've liked this story and want to stay for more, drop a comment with a review and polite critique, thanks! <3 c: Also, I'll leave some notes in the bottom with some clarifications, just read the story and you'll get to those. Thanks again for dropping by, I love you guys!  
> Stasi - The Ministry for State Security or State Security Service was the official state security service of the German Democratic Republic (East Germany). It has been described as one of the most effective and repressive intelligence and secret police agencies ever to have existed. One of the Stasi's main tasks was spying on the population, primarily through a vast network of citizens turned informants, and fighting any opposition by overt and covert measures, including hidden psychological destruction of dissidents.

Feliks left the first week of Advent to celebrate at home, a privilege Gilbert didn’t have. The house grew quiet with the beginning of December, everyone coming and going and leaving for longer trips home as the holidays neared. The only holiday they anticipated in Russia, however, was Silvester.

Not as though Prussia complained, though he was a child when it came to Christmas and Easter. Past years he hadn’t had the chance to celebrate the way he would like but now it pained him much more to know that celebrating wasn’t even an option.

Ukraine turned in early that evening after dinner and Lithuania followed her soon after, claiming he still had paperwork to finish in his room. Meanwhile, they lit a wide candle in the kitchen – the electricity had gone out – and sat down in silence, Gilbert torturing his eyes as he solved crosswords in the dim light, Natalia doing the same as she carefully worked on her embroidery. Behind them, Aleksander was doing the dishes, a copper pot sat on the stove where some alcohol simmered quietly. From time to time, Vladimir would stand, leaving his half-built tower of cards to stir it and, following Aleksander’s directions, add tea-spoons of honey, as if he were making tea.

The snowfall outside was heavy, the wind whistled through the holes and nooks in the wooden frame of the window. Winter had come with all its fury after the first snowfall, claiming the city as its own and covering it with a heavy blanket of ice, snow, freezing the earth and leaving the hearts just as frozen as everyone anticipated and dreaded the end of the heavy storm.

“I wish I could’ve gone to church on All Saint’s day,” Vlad said suddenly, holding his palms over the stove and rubbing them a few times before going back to the table. “If I could’ve lit a candle, the weather wouldn’t bother me as much. It feels too much like a…warning.”

“What All Saint’s day’s gotten into you?” Aleksander asked, baffled. “That’s in spring!”

“No, I’m talking about the one now. Before Saint Michael’s day!”

“Ah! That’s something Catholic.”

“No, it’s twice a year,” Natalia explained, her voice soft and even. “Once in spring and once in November.”

“Sashe, we have it thrice a year in the Orthodox calendar!”

“If you say so, though in my book, every day’s a holiday…”

“A single candle and prayer can’t do enough to help you rid yourself of any ill feeling,” Belarus pointed out absently.

The conversation had triggered some bit of childish interest and Prussia couldn’t help but look up from his newspaper to ask, “What’s this All Saint’s day you’re talking about?”

Vladimir’s eyes brightened immediately and he began explaining excitedly, “It’s a holiday, celebrated twice a year or thrice in memory of the dead! It’s said that during that holiday that the spirits cross over, we go to church to light a candle for dead family members, we go to the cemetery to leave bread and pastries and boiled grains with sugar for them. It’s very mystical, we…”

“Don’t describe it as if it’s a national holiday,” Natalia scolded him.

“I thought we couldn’t celebrate religious holidays.”

“Oh, it’s not religious,” Vladimir explained, while Aleksander set in front of each of them a small crystal glass, the liquid inside exuding a welcoming sweet smell and warmth. “It’s actually…well, I don’t know the word…”

“Ethnic? Pegan?” Aleks suggested. “No, no, it’s a church holiday. I don’t even remember anymore. It’s not that special, especially the one after Easter and apparently this one in November.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Vladimir scolded.

They shared a toast and drank, only Gilbert brought the glass to his lips, wet them with the alcohol and sat it back down; it wasn’t the most pleasant thing in the world.

“I’m looking at the cards now,” Vladimir began anew, building along the side of the tower and making it bigger, “and I’m wondering if I should go see a fortuneteller when I go home.”

“What about?” Belarus asked, reaching for her scissors to cut the bit of green thread before leaving it aside and taking the ball of yellow one to continue with her flowers.

“Well…I wouldn’t mind learning this and that, I feel like I’ve been cursed or something. Ah! I know,” he looked at Aleksander, “we should go see a hodja. No, no, listen, I really feel this bad energy circulating around me, I’m absolutely certain Hungary brought it over and it’s stuck to me now.”

“Yeah, might as well go see a gypsy while on your way,” Aleksander rolled his eyes. “It’s not Hungary that’s cursed you, but…”

He trailed off, feeling Natalia throw him a quick, warning glance.

“And do you, Gilbert,” she said, “believe in curses? You haven’t said a thing, perhaps the conversation is making you feel uncomfortable. Considering your existence is a miracle.”

“Well don’t say it with such a tone,” Vladimir chided, “but, yes, Prussia, what do you think about it? I know a fortuneteller that’s incredible, she’s one of a kind!”

“I don’t know, I’ve never believed in superstitions,” Gilbert admitted, looking bitterly at Natalia. “Ghosts and spirits, and magic…Just a bunch of fairytales and scary stories we used to tell kids to scare them into following the rules and not going out after dark.”

“Oh, so you don’t really believe in, say, curses?” Vladimir asked, nearly leaning over the table.

“There are no such things,” Gilbert said. “Like I said, there might have been idiocies of the sort but they’re not relevant anymore.”

“Now, says the man who just a few years back lived in a castle, mystified by the idea of the occult,” Natalia jabbed, expertly threading her needle with another colour after she had finished with the yellow core of her flower.

“Do not mix religion with occultism,” he warned her. “There’s a difference. Maybe you haven’t lived long enough to learn it or you still don’t want to but one has nothing to do with the other.”

Gilbert had never believed in prophecies, energies and astronomy that bordered mysticism and irrationality. He’d always found stability and warmth in religion and the thought of God, in his darkest moments, faith was and has always been an anchor. What Belarus spoke of, her Pegan beliefs and rituals, magic and curses, was based on nothing but hate and vengeful spirituality that could invoke only fear.

Gilbert couldn’t even remember how they all had lived back when all of that had any relevance.

“But one doesn’t disapprove of the other,” Vladimir argued. “Religion wasn’t always around. I still can’t forget how it was before it, you know…I think a lot about it sometimes, you can’t always explain everything with, say, science or religion. And isn’t religion also based on a spiritual context?”

“I remember,” Bulgaria threw in, sipping his drink lazily, “when there wasn’t any God at all. You probably don’t remember, Prussia, but back then, when nothing had an actual meaning, there was this incredibly vague and odd sense of belonging to something…otherworldly. There are actually places like that, where you could still feel that way, and those are the places where, if you make a wish or ask for something, you’ll receive an answer. In magic I don’t believe, but…There’s definitely something out there and it’s not necessarily God.”

Prussia couldn’t agree. Never having lived a day without the thought of God on his mind, even when he had mercilessly killed and lied, and plotted against both friend and foe in His name, he had always sought His forgiveness. He had killed in His name the unbelievers and had celebrated His birth as solemnly as he never had his own. Thus, Prussia was quite skeptical of all else that only mimicked His divine power; once, when he had lived as the embodiment of an order, he had hated and fought the heathens that lied and worshiped…idols and animals, and trees and all kinds of senseless things.

So Gilbert had thought, but here he was now, blaming the weather on ghosts and spirits, ashamed to even look in the direction of a church, let alone go inside to say a prayer…

Not as though he was allowed, not as long as he had Ivan breathing down his neck.

“Remember when you got cursed,” Romania asked, cheekily, glancing over at Bulgaria, “we tell ourselves there’s no magic, but were you scared!”

Aleksander nearly shuddered, visibly, and his demeanor tensed, his expression soured, “You would be too, loser! If you woke up one morning, sick and as limp as a…well,” he spat. “Then all of a sudden, omens, dried flowers, hair…I couldn’t set foot in a church out of fright.”

“What happened?” Belarus asked, suddenly interested. She even laid down her embroidery, smoothening it out on her knee.

“A lady from his village tried to curse him once, long ago,” Vladimir told instead, in a whisper. “Out of spite, out of idiocy, definitely…You know, the good old trickeries – eggs, needles in the sheets, dried flowers…Oh, but you say you don’t believe in it, who helped you in the end of all ends? Turkey! What did he do? He took you to a woman to pour you lead and your bad luck was gone!”

“I can pour lead, and wax,” Belarus said, staring down at her embroidery in thought, “come to think of it, St Andrew’s was a few days back…It was a workday, we must’ve missed the opportunity.”

Romania’s expression darkened further when she mentioned the holiday and bitterness overwhelmed him when he realized that he had so unwittingly missed not one but two favourite holidays.

“Time flies…”

“It really does.”

Prussia, who cared most for Christmas out of all other holidays and now that it was impossible to celebrate it had nothing to talk about anymore and so he had again looked down to focus on his crossword. He cared little about solving it too, his hand was barely used to writing Cyrillic again and he couldn’t even understand most of the questions.

He couldn’t shake off Natalia’s glare, her hot and curious glances, though each time he looked at her, her eyes were stuck to the needle; her fingers, graceful and thin, worked quickly, as if she were a whole sewing machine. Only once did she prick herself and a fat drop of blood gathered on the top of her finger but she barely said a word or made a sound other than one of annoyance before bringing it to her lips. Gilbert couldn’t help but follow the movement and it was in that moment, when Natalia’s thin lips wrapped around her finger, did he catch her finally looking. Her eyes held promise and suggestion but were as cold and daring as Ivan’s sometimes became.

Just before they blew out the candle to go to bed, she folded the embroidery and put it down the table, pushing the chair against the table with force enough to make its legs scrape against the floorboards. It was enough to catch his attention and hold it while she blew the candle out with a gentle blow; the kitchen became dark but not dark enough so they wouldn’t see each other. The shadows of the snow falling down and the flakes as large as torn cotton chasing each other danced along the walls around them.

She approached him like a wild cat, like a storm, ready to blow him away. Her touch turned him into ice, her lips touched his and she pulled him into an impatient, feverish kiss. She inhaled him, tore him apart like a predator. Her body stuck to him, her hands like the claws of a bird of prey wrapped around him and refused to let him fight out of her trap.

Not as though Gilbert had in mind fighting her, he surrendered willingly, having nearly forgotten what a warm touch of passion felt like and what it was like to run his hands down the curves of an unfamiliar body. Belarus was thin, her figure boyish rather than feminine, her bones sharp under his palms, digging into his own as if he were embracing a tree, frozen by winter.

They undressed in his room, in a hurry, before she let him take her atop the woolen blankets covering his lumpy mattress. Her warm breath caressed his jaw, his neck, and that was all that was warm about her. Her hands were cold, her body almost lifeless under his, uninterested in pleasuring him – Prussia wasn’t interested either.

They had done this merely twice now, out of boredom, spite towards one another, and Gilbert was sometimes careless with the thought of hurting not her but others on his mind, pretending that he had the upper hand while he had nothing.

Natalia pushed him aside once they were done, their skin stuck to each other with a film of sweat. She got off the bed gracefully, confidant despite the scars covering her skin, memories of when he, Gilbert, had walked all over her and had owned her.

“Natalia…” He called after her, just barely catching his breath. She was already walking towards the door and when she heard him waited only for a moment before pulling the door open and stomping outside. Now that he was alone, Gilbert wasn’t certain how good the sex had even made him feel; sleeping with Natalia meant guilt, emptiness and loneliness that ate you from the inside out. She was a parasite.

Prussia was sure now and knew without a doubt that she had to be a witch, he couldn’t explain to himself why so many people held her dear and loved her otherwise.

The second week of Advent, Gilbert begged her to lend him the car. He spoke to her softly, gave her compliments, threw in all his charm but Natalia was unshakable. She had assumed the role of disciplinary officer in the apartment and there wasn’t a thing that could be done without her explicit approval but, actually, she had no real power over their actions.

Naturally, Prussia couldn’t say that to her face, especially not when he wanted something of her. Belarus denied him once, the second time she showed indifference and when Prussia tried his luck the third time all he managed to do was annoy Lithuania who scolded him sharply for bothering Belarus and accused him of acting childishly when Gilbert explained just why he needed the car.

From then on, Tolys was as if stuck to her, side-eyeing Gilbert whenever they were all in one room, thus it took him a whole week of buttering her up for Natalia to finally decide to lend him the keys. She did so wordlessly one morning before walking out – she was part of a commission for something or other and was in too big of a hurry to pay him any attention.

The drive was long, mostly due to the traffic, and the car, of course, wasn’t the fastest, though at that point in time perhaps a fast car meant something completely different. Thus Prussia drove in silence and once he was where he had wanted to go, he spent a few long minutes, smoking outside in the cold and kicking the snow in his feet, contemplating whether to go inside or not.

The church was small, nestled under two naked trees in the very far end of the yard and built into the ground as had been usual for the orthodox churches once. Its colours had begun peeling off the walls, a sign of lack of care funding.

Gilbert stared at the cross atop its dome that had once been painted yellow, walked back to the driver’s side to open the door, then back towards the entrance…He repeated that exercise not once or twice, wondering if there was a difference between going inside to say a prayer in an orthodox or catholic church and if God would be angry with him if he did go inside.

Finally, after deciding that otherwise his trip would’ve been pointless, Gilbert crossed the threshold into the yard and confidently strode over to the stone steps leading down and inside the church. There were no pews inside where he could sit and pray, only icons and paintings along the walls and the oval ceiling. The air was cold, smelled faintly of dust, mold and melted wax. The church was lit entirely by candles, thousands of them, hanging from the ceiling, put on tall candlesticks in front of the icons and images of various holy men, the Holy Mother, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

Prussia hadn’t set foot in a church since the early forties and he couldn’t tell how he felt now; both afraid and ashamed, lost and confused. Like a child, it felt like ages, wasn’t even sure if he ought to say a prayer, light a candle, at first glance he wasn’t sure just where to go to make a confession.

Thankfully he didn’t have to wait and wonder for long. While Gilbert stood, looking up at the paintings, holding his breath, came a short, stocky priest dressed in black to welcome him. He had a bright smile on his unshaven face and was visibly excited to see another person there.

“What brings you here?” He asked, noticing Gilbert’s nervousness. “I haven’t seen you around, might you be new? Come now, say, what brings you here? Do you want to light a candle?”

“I…I haven’t been to church in a long time, I,” he began mumbling.

Seeing that, the father smiled even wider, “It’s never too late to start attending, even in these times. In fact, now it’s the right time! Tell, are you a foreigner? Is that why you’re nervous? Don’t be! We’re all equal in His home.”

“I wanted to confess, actually,” Gilbert said shyly, wondering if that too was a practice in the orthodox church. “I…I just needed to come and talk to someone, not just…light a candle.”

“Confess, then,” the father urged, “what might be on your mind? Certainly not something that can’t be fixed.”

“It can’t. The truth is that…I don’t even know how to start.”

He took a moment to breathe and gather his thoughts and the father waited patiently, obviously, he had nothing to be in a hurry for.

After calming down, Gilbert told him all that was on his mind – of his sickness, of Ivan’s offer to work with him, of his struggles under his roof, he even told him about Ludwig and how much he missed him, how worried he was for him and how he suffered on his own with the burden of his bad decisions. The more he spoke, the more things he found the need to say and get off his chest.

The father listened closely, without interrupting him, and once Gilbert was finished, he said, “What a life you live, could yours even be called luck…But you don’t worry, remember, God has a plan for everyone. Those he loves and wants to make stronger he gives the path lined with the most thorns. But that shouldn’t scare you! If it’s said already, then you have nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t know anymore…I don’t know what to think, I…I’m lost,” Prussia admitted bitterly, staring ahead at the icons, “lost and afraid that I won’t have time.”

“No, no, no…Where are you in such a hurry for? Look at you, a young and strong man…How about you go and light a candle, say a prayer, cross yourself. And remember, whatever it is that you might need, you can always come here.”

Following the advice, Gilbert bought three candles and lit one for Ludwig, though he knew his brother wasn’t much of a believer and would laugh if he knew how Gilbert spent his time nowadays. The second one he lit for himself and the third, despite everything, he lit for everyone that now suffered Ivan’s rule. That one he lit for everyone’s health and sanity without an ounce of ill feelings, with hopes for nothing but the best for them all, even for Lithuania and Poland, even for Belarus. Even for Russia he said a quick prayer before turning around to cross himself, out of habit doing it the catholic way and scolding himself for it after.

Once he walked out, he felt much better, after having spilled his pain and anxiety and left them between the four walls of the church. He wasn’t any closer to making a decision and the longer he thought about it, the harder it became to actually do it, but he had at least dropped a bit of the weight he carried on his shoulders.

That night he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, plagued by his own thoughts. He wanted to go to Ivan’s office the very next day but was afraid of what he would end up telling him, afraid that he would end up pulling on the Devil’s tail and getting himself in more trouble than freedom was worth. But freedom was priceless, and was worth everything Prussia could ever do.

He left long afternoon, planning to visit Ivan in his office and if he wasn’t there by some chance, then he would go to his private apartment. At the door, however, while he was pulling on his coat, he felt something in its pocket. He reached in and his fingers wrapped around something dry and unpleasant to the touch, similar to old paper. When Gilbert pulled it out, all he saw in the palm of his hand was a small dried bouquet of white flowers tied and held together by a red thread.

He dropped it almost immediately as if it had burned him and brushed his hand off of the remains, feeling sick to his stomach at the sight. Struck by a sense of irrational anxiety and even fear, Gilbert kicked the crushed bouquet out of the door so it wasn’t inside anymore before stomping off down the stairs.

He caught Belarus just as she was about to get in Lithuania’s car, he had to drive her somewhere, but when she heard him walking behind her, she stopped and turned to face him. Her face showed nothing, was merely a mask of cruelty molded beautifully but unfitting for the unforgiving and furious soul she carried.

“You did a great job,” he yelled after her, “trying to scare me. You can’t! Don’t even try, do you hear me!”

“I have nothing to scare you of,” she replied, irritatingly calm. “In fact, all I can do is pray for you, usurper. I hope you get blisters each time you try to pray for forgiveness, I hope your dreams are filled with guilt and you can’t sleep, I hope you die of hunger and thirst!”

“You…” Gilbert said, gritting his teeth so he wouldn’t say something he’d be sorry for but the moment he stepped closer to Natalia, Tolys stepped out of the car.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, talking to Belarus but his eyes were stuck to Gilbert, full of spite and a wordless warning. “We’re running late already…”

“We aren’t,” Natalia said, looking at Prussia untouched by his change of tone. “I’ll pray for you.”

She walked over to Lithuania, who wrapped an arm around her waist before leaning down to kiss the cheek she offered him politely, like a dog sucking up to its owner for one kind, thankful touch and a good word.

He watched as the two got in the car and drove off, as if nothing had happened, while Gilbert stood struck by his own spite and misery.

After taking his anger out on the snow in his feet by giving it a few good kicks, Gilbert calmed down and took the bus to Ivan’s office. As quickly as he could he walked there and almost ran up the stairs before dashing inside the room. Ivan was, thankfully, alone, as if he had been expecting him. Like last time, he didn’t look up from his work, merely welcomed him and offered him a seat.

“I thought I’d have to call you in officially,” Ivan said casually, finally gracing Gilbert with all his attention. “Are you here to bring good news?”

“It’s not good news,” Gilbert spat, sitting down heavily. He even unbuttoned his coat, his emotions kept him warm and made him restless. “I thought about your offer. I need details.”

“Well, now…details,” Ivan almost laughed. “You’re old enough to know better, Prussia.”

“Obviously, I don’t. I need details, I need more information! If we’re going to be working together, I need to know just what you want from me and expect, because if you’re going to be keeping me in the dark, this won’t work…”

“You’re going too far, Mr Beilschmidt,” Ivan warned. “I don’t owe you, in particular, nothing. Don’t forget that we’re not partners also. But if you decide to help me and for once play by the rules that I set…then we can both count on a long, lasting partnership, yes. The details, you’ll learn with time, as we begin discussing them, for now – you don’t need to know much. In fact, do come over next week, I’ll give you a time and actual date, so we can actually attend a formal meeting and discuss your position. Until then…Thank you, Gilbert, for deciding to stop being just a throat to feed and offering your expert help.”

Prussia wanted to wipe the knowing look and that quirk of the lips he called smile off his face; he felt like a fly that had just landed in the net of a very hungry spider willingly, enticed by the promise of something shiny that was actually poison.

But there was no turning back and he knew as much. Somehow, the thought of the future began to scare him much more now that it was suddenly obvious that a future would be possible, even for him.

Christmas came and went without any formalities. Slovakia and Czech returned the day after the twenty-fifth while Poland came back a few days before New Year, going as far as to bring colourful prosphoras for the few people he actually liked and even small gifts, pretending that the holiday had actually happened for all of them.

New Year was a grand occasion and they celebrated accordingly, together as Russia had wished they’d be, though he didn’t have much time for them, too busy tending to his guests. Most of them were rather impatient for twelve o’clock to come around, to see the fireworks, hear a few speeches and pop the champagne to finally be done and go home. Very few of them actually enjoyed the night, especially while they felt Ivan’s presence, hovering over them as if they were all children on a field trip.

After an official correspondence with the general staff just a few days after the holiday it was decided that Gilbert would be leaving for Berlin either the end of January or the beginning of February. Russia would be going with him, of course, to supervise the establishment of his new political services and additions to his new system. While Gilbert had to be happy and enjoy the breath of fresh air, he could barely focus on anything else but the feeling that he was making one horrible mistake after the other without a chance to redeem himself.

He came home a few days before they were scheduled to leave and was very happy for once to catch the apartment mostly empty and calm. Feliks he found in the kitchen snacking on whatever was left from yesterday’s dinner, heatedly discussing something with Hedvika while she did the dishes. Really, she seemed about ready to through the plate she was washing back at him, both of them speaking in a mixture of rapid Polish, Czech and Russian, until Gilbert interrupted him.

He hadn’t even taken the time to take off his coat and boots when he walked into the kitchen and slapped something that resembled a newspaper on the table in front of Feliks. Shocked by his sudden appearance, Feliks could only look up at Gilbert, then at the thing he had just thrown in front of him and realized with just as much surprise that it was a magazine – not one he knew of or had heard of and definitely not one written in Russian.

“It’s not local,” Gilbert clarified boldly, meaning that not only was the magazine not Russian, it was from outside the block altogether.

“Why are you giving me this?” Feliks asked, lowering his tone suddenly, as he looked up from the colourful cover. “You want to get us in trouble or something?”

“It’s a peace offering. You can thank me later…”

His tone was definitely not one of a person seeking peace after years of turmoil and war but before Poland could make him elaborate, Gilbert was already walking out of the kitchen, leaving behind himself stunned silence.

Driven by curiosity more than anything and definitely interested in the pictures in the magazine, despite it being written in German, Feliks took it and walked over to the room he shared with Lithuania right after finishing his lunch. He couldn’t even think of Hedvika, his attention was all on the magazine.

The moment he shut the door and locked it for good measure though and opened the first few pages of the copy he realized had something to do with geography given the pictures of rivers and deserts, something fell out from between them. It was a piece of paper, folded a few times to make it as small as it could become to comfortably hide between the thin pages.

As curious as he was cautious, Feliks leaned down to pick it up and first went over to the couch he slept on under the window to sit before unfolding the paper. What he saw made him genuinely confused and uncertain just what Prussia’s actual game and intentions were now and not only made dread settle in the pit of his stomach but it poked at Feliks’ stubbornness and made him want to go straight to Gilbert and tell him that the last thing he needed was his worry and comradery.

The piece of paper was actually a note; said note wasn’t just a message but a very short and outright warning:

_Be careful what you do and say. Russia’s always watching. Don’t trust anyone. Don't stand in my way._

Carefully he folded back the note and left it aside. Taking a deep breath to steady his just a little bit jittered nerves, Poland decided that whatever game Prussia would now be playing, he most definitely wouldn’t be the loser this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Silvester/Sylwester - New Year, in German and Polish culture  
> *Advent - in Polish and German culture, the days leading up to Christmas, culminating with the 24th  
> *All Saint's Day - a day meant to worship the dead, similar to Halloween, in the East-European church calendar the holiday is celebrated thrice. While in Bulgaria the most meaningful is the one in spring, in Poland, Belarus and parts of Ukraine the one in November would be better known. I personally threw it in because of its celebration as it was described in Raymont's "The Peasants", and at all a lot of the book was used as kind of an artistic and aesthetical reference here.  
> *Hodja - a religious figure in Islam, in the context used here it's still a religious figure capable of breaking curses through prayer; in context of Romania's jab, in Bulgaria to get rid of bad energy or a curse you either go see a gypsy, a hodja or a fortuneteller, depending on the region you're in  
> *Living in a castle - I watched a documentary on how Himmler was deep into occultism and the SS was actually a sect, he and some men that were close to him apparently held occult, demon-summoning meetings in some German castle in Bavaria that I forgot the name of, but...yeah, apparently the SS were a sect now  
> *Cursing - in most Slavic cultures, myths and lore, as far as my research and my Anthropology course and lectures went, the most common bearers of bad energies are hair from a deceased man, dried flowers, chicken eggs or needles that have been spoken over and thus cursed beforehand, and in the most drastic curses - soil from a fresh grave, water that has been used to wash the body of a recently deceased person, ashes of said person. Generally, curses and witchcraft, and lore related firstly with Paganism and later incorporated into Christianity is common for all Slavic cultures  
> *Saint Andrew's - another church holiday the traditions of which stem from Pagan beliefs related to fortunetelling and predicting the future, one of the rituals to do so being telling the future through the shadow of a wax figure. I gotta say, my first year of university everyone from the Polonistics department celebrated it, it was an incredible experience and I hope I get to celebrate it again because Covid is definitely not something the wax warned me about when I poured it  
> *Pouring lead - a common practice meant to get rid of bad energy and curses; the Bulgarian phrasing which also comes from Turkish as I read, is literally 'to pour a bullet', as bullets are made of lead  
> *Church - the appearance of a catholic and orthodox church is very different visually; as I watched in a Russian series based in this time period, churches were not shut down completely and though primarily visited by the older generation and misunderstood by those who weren't raised religiously, they weren't as strictly prohibited, people just...didn't go because they no longer had the culture and sense to go, not because they were completely prohibited. At least, so was my impression when I watched the series, where one of the characters went to church to, comically, ask the priest there to give her a charm against heartbreak or something; Catholics cross themselves the other way around as opposed to Orthodox Christians but I can't remember who did it left to right and who right to left...  
> *Magazines - in later years a lot of West-German merchandise would be smuggled into Poland, something described in Olga Tokarczuk's 'Prawiek'. Of course, this probably didn't happen in the early fifties, in which this story should take place, but I couldn't shake off the need to write this scene...I obviously might have misinterpreted the time, though magazines, pictures and clothes, and all kinds of other stuff being brought into the Union to then be confiscated or let through depending on who is bringing it would've been a regular thing


End file.
